


And they met in a tavern

by GattinDesElends



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, One Night Stands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28050669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GattinDesElends/pseuds/GattinDesElends
Summary: Bounty hunter meets Hellion in a bar. We all know how that ends.
Relationships: Hellion/Bounty Hunter
Kudos: 2





	And they met in a tavern

When hell breaks loose, there is nobody you can rely on. Only yourself. 

Yeah, I know, it sounds negative. It fucking is. But that's what life taught me. No choice I made on my own, really. Just the death and me, having occasional meetings a few times a year. No idea how I manage to stay sane.  
Scratch that. I am not. I am a terrible liar to make you believe that for a second, but I bet you didn't anyways, huh? Not after hearing me talk about death and hell breaking loose and all that dark shit. Everyone telling you that they are sane after that much stuff are blatant liars. I know, because I am like them. 

There is no other reason to talk to you, since you are just part of my imagination. Part of my delusions. I caught you somewhere on the road, somewhere between me surviving the bandit raid of our village when I was a child and me slaughtering a random guy I don't know, because his head is worth its weight in gold. 

Hunting humans is not much different from hunting animals, when you've grown up with bloodshed all around you. Once you've grown numb to sensations of helplessness, despair and dread. Once you've seen so much of hell that you became a part of it. Started to feel at home. Started to feel like you belong where you are. Started to feel dead yourself, until you crushed your first skull and finally – finally – felt grounded again. Alive. Because you felt something, a rush of adrenaline. Doesn't really matter what it is, as long as it is something. One feeling is better than none is what I can tell you. This, I know. 

If you've seen everything that was holy to you getting slaughtered at the age of five, you start to live like you're on a razors edge a few years later. At least, I have. Probably not the same for everyone. Probably some would have ended their own miserable existence somewhere in puberty, to get rid of the emptiness inside of them. The feeling of being a hollow thing, a machine without any goals or wishes or dreams or emotions. A thing that pretends to be like everyone else, just to belong somewhere, even though it doesnt really matter. I'm not sure when I have realized the tragedy behind that. I don't care for anyone. Not at all.  
I could warm a womans bed for months and wouldn't shed a tear if she died.  
I just can't. 

Sometimes I wonder if I am still human. If anything can reach me, if not the thrill of the hunt. The thrill of dancing with death once again. It's the only thing worth living. Because it is the only thing that makes me realize that I am still alive after all. 

If anyone knew how I truly am. If literally anyone really knew me, they would pitty me for sure. Even though you can't understand what you haven't experienced. Not that I wish for anyone to have a void where once was a soul. But they would pity me for everything that I am unable to experience. The deep sensation of bonding with others, happiness, love. Sometimes I am glad that I was so young back then. That I've forgotten what those things felt like. Because if I knew, I would have missed them. But you can't miss what you don't know, right? You can't understand what you haven't experienced yourself.  
I am thankful that I don't have to struggle. 

I down my Ale in one go and stare at the empty glass, unable to stand up to get me another round. I am not even sure how much I've drunk already. It isn't important anyways, I guess, as long as the bartender doesn't tell me that I've had enough for today.  
There's not much difference between me being drunk and me being sober anyways. I am still a silent headhunter, but everything feels a bit warmer and almost cozy if I silence my head as much as I silence my tongue. It is a thoughtless, smooth dizzyness that is soothing my mind. That pulls me back into here and now. Pulls me out of my downward spiral of thoughts that lead to the darker places of my mind. 

This town is in no shape, just like my mind. I think we fit together quite fine. The heir of its founder is leading the place like a strict commander. Which is necessairy, I guess, if he wants to rebuild this shithole. Word is, he's come to claim the estate one or two months ago. The townsfolk says his ancestor had been some kind of dark magican and I can't truly blame them for being suspicious, considering the almost unnatural darkness in the area. Feels like a cursed place. Feels like home even more. Maybe, just maybe, I can feel alive a few times, if I find myself a room to stay in. If I convince the heir that I am useful enough to pay me. 

The tavern is a dirty place, but kind of warm and I wonder how the innkeeper is able to make it feel cozy despite the darkness that surrounds everything, especially the hearts of people. It is not loud around me. People are walking wrecks, dead drunk, at least half of them. I can see deep scars and hollow eyes, staring into nothingness. They sit in the corners of the tavern, keeping to themselves or whisper to each other about places they have been to, about things they can't unsee. About horrors awaiting them next week. I know now, that this is where the heirs mercenaries try to recover. I have seen four of them returning to town when I have arrived with the stagecoach. Dread in their eyes, the bodies stumbling and in bad shape. 

I don't pitty them. I don't fear the things outside, that I will most likely face sooner or later if I stay here. I am excited. Bloodlust is rushing through my veins, as soon as I think about burrying my axe in some flesh. I need this. This is what I came for. 

It feels like I have blinked once and suddenly the tavern is full of people, full of noise, full of life and it is even darker outside. It looks like the time has flown by without me noticing it in my dizzy drunken state. That's a good way to spend an evening until you black out. That's how I am able to sleep without nightmares, creeping into my dreams. 

I don't remember drinking that much, but I spot two new empty glasses infront of me with unknown origin and my head feels funny and spins damn good. I think, I am finally able to bring my thoughts to a standstill. I just have to watch the townsfolk until I pass out dead drunk. And so, I observe. 

I don't know how I end up next to a warrior-esque looking woman on a bar stool. She is telling me slurred stories of her survival in this shithole, but all I can do is to stare into her eyes. I get rid of my helmet absent-mindedly, place it on the bar table and wonder if I have ever seen eyes with such a deep expression ever before. 

I actually try to follow her words for a while. She comes fresh out of the sanatorium, had treatment for a disease I have never heard of. Says it comes from the mushroom bastards, the goddamn mushroom bastards inside the Weald. 

„They've been people once, you know. But there's this fungal infection. Turns them into godknows what.“

„Do they bleed?“ I surprise myself. I actually say something. I actually show interest. 

„Hell yeah, they do.“

„Fine. If it bleeds, I can kill it.“

She lets out a guttural laugh and eyes me from the side for a moment. „You're one fucked up fellow, aren't you?“

I don't answer. Instead I give her a shrug and a look as if it doesn't matter. And, to my surprise, she seems to understand, somehow, someway.  
This woman is a rare specimen. That she is able to understand me in my silence is just one reason. The other reason is that I, the guy with the void inside, actually feels the urge to know her better. And that hasn't happened before. Feeling an urge that is, except for the urge to feel.

„Name's Donovan“, I slurr randomly and she cracks a teasing smile. 

„Slow down, handsome“, she purrs. „We are calling each other by name already?“

„Sure thing, princess.“ I show her a provoking grin and, for once, I actually don't act, but am sincere. „Got no time for slow bonding. I probably die sooner rather than later, so let me have some sweet time as long as I can. I want to see those eyes of yours filled with pleasure within the next hour.“

She looks dumb fonded for a moment, as if she can't believe what I just said. Her eyes and mouth are wide open. It feels like minutes, but I know it's merely a second until she gets hold of her facial expression again. 

„Wow“, she starts, struggling to find words, obviously. My grin turns smug, since I know that she must have the hardest time processing the development, but I have no intentions to give her time to actually think about what we are doing right now. 

„You are even more blunt than the Heir, Donovan“, she stutters, shifting in her seat, but not uncomfortably, if I read her body language correctly. She turns shy, I can tell, but is flattered at the same time, which speaks of her open personality, considering me harassing her like there is no tomorrow. Which, in my case, could be true, if I fall off the razors edge for once. 

„It's a first-timer. I'm usually not that honest“, I state matter-of-factly and lean forwards, meeting her half way and I find my fingers on her back, debating with myself to let them creep up or down. I decide to pull her closer instead, to burry my nose in her black hair, to smell her. To carve her scent into my memories. I don't care why this feels like a special moment to me. I'm just happy that it is. It has been a long time since I've wanted something else but to shed blood. And I damn sure do what I want. No reason not to. Not if I finally feel something else. 

„You should shove me away right fucking now“, I hear myself growl low into her ear nonetheless, not even more than a breath that hovers over her skin, threatening of the things to come. She shivers slightly, but doesn't back away. I am too damn drunk to control myself or show some manners. At least I have still been able to warn her to not let me get my way if she doesn't want it. That this would be the appropriate time to drive a knee into my groin. 

She sucks in a breath, but doesn't move a finger. „Donovan“, she whispers instead, her breath hitched and it drives me mad with desire. The way she says my name, as if she doesn't want to forget. As if she is afraid to have a hangover in the morning.  
„I think I like you.“ It sounds like she admits it to herself. 

My grip grows stronger without intention. I press her really close to me, find my way between her legs, grind my pelvis against her and her bar stool. She gasps for air, slings her arms around me and is somehow able to stand up without effort. Her fingers snake around my wrist with more strength than I would have given her credit for and she pulls me with her. To where, I don't know. I don't care. I can't even comprehend what is happening right now, every part of my being focused on the back of her head, wanting to see those eyes for longer, for eternity.

I know that I am just a random lay for her. Some tavern guy with a good enough face for her to become an opportunist. But I don't care, as long as I can explore her for a few hours. As long as I can make her my feast tonight. 

She drags me out of the tavern and I stumble eagerly, try to look as if I am still in control of myself, even though I am clearly not. We somehow make our way to some baracks, but I am too drunk to pay attention to my surroundings. All I want is to devour her. 

As soon as she opens her door, I am all over her. I shove her against it to close it shut and she lets out a heavy breathe, before I silence her by slamming my lips onto hers. I don't realize my own desire anymore, how I kiss her with desperate roughness. Her smell makes me rabid and I can't stop my hands from searching buttons and straps, as I unbuckle her armor impatiently. Somewhere in the back of my mind I notice her doing the same with mine, pulling on my armor, my pants, my hair, kissing me back with violent longing. 

Even though everything feels like a blurr of colors, I am rock hard and ready to pound her straight against the door, because the bed is too far away for me right now.  
I don't want to wait one more second. I simply can't.  
I curse under my breath, because getting rid of her pants takes too fucking long for my taste, even though she tries to help me by shoving them down, before she clings onto me with full force, wrapping her legs around my hips, absolutely eager for the rough stuff. I feel her wet core rubbing against me and I curse once again, blindly pressing my hardness where it feels right and thrust without waiting, until I feel her heated walls closing in on my cock, indescribably tight and perfect. 

She lets out a row of excited moans and gasps as I start to dig myself into her as deep as I can, as hard as I can, desperate to feel as much of her as possible, but no matter how fast and hard I pound her, it's never enough. I thrust into her like I'm rabid and I dig my fingers into her buttocks and my teeth into her slender neck as if I am starving.  
Her moans turn into cries full of pain and pleasure and I don't even realize that she has dug her nails into my back aswell, that she presses herself against me as if she is drowning and I am her anchor. 

It doesn't take me long to spill myself inside her. After all, control has gone a few hours ago. But it doesn't mean that I am done with her after the first five minutes. She looks disappointed for a second, as I slip out of her and a stream of white liquid follows and runs down her inner thigh. But it's just a second, because I wrap my arms around her and throw her over my shoulder to carry her to what looks like a table in the almost complete darkness. I am not walking straight anymore, but it doesn't matter, because I reach my destination anyways, shove her onto the wood and grab her by the knees, to spread them wide open. She sqeaks in surprise, but doesn't sound unhappy. 

„Not done with you yet“, I slurr, while I shove my nose between her folds and start to blindly lick her sweet slickness and run my tongue over her clit until her back arches and I hear her muffled cries of pleasure. Her legs are soon clamping down on me, but I don't really care, as long as I can still hear her ecstasy. It is better than any music I have ever heard. Better than the begging of my victims, better than their pained cries, their panicked sobs. 

I crave her throaty voice, I can't stop making her climax again and again because it grounds me somehow, makes me feel as if I am whole again. Her moans have turned into whimpers a while ago and I give her a few minutes to come back to her senses, to take in some breath, to find new strength, because I want to find my own release inside her again. To fill her, until I reach the very core of her being, somehow break the wall between body and soul, until she truly understands my craving. My need. The hunger that appeared for the first time in my life and that feels as if it can never be satiated. 

I whisper sweet nothings into her ear while I push myself inside her again, stretching her without letting her accomodate to my size, because I simply can't stop. Because the urge is too strong. I am rutting her like an animal, overtaken by desire. I bite and suck and lick every part of her skin that I can reach, while I fuck her as if my cock is a battering ram, but never let go of her clit. She has lost her energy a while ago. She is a shivering mess, but doesn't stop begging for more with her shaky, whimpering voice, doesn't stop pressing herself against me and moving her hips, like me inside her is the only thing that truly matters. 

After the first time, I last longer until I fill her up once more. And I don't stop devouring her, until a sad excuse for morning light creeps through the window and I realize that I have to stop before I lose myself even more than I already have. So I let finally go of her and she sinks down to her knees, beyond exhausted, but with satisfaction in her eyes and a tired smile, drunken from sex, rather than alcohol. 

For one last time our eyes meet, before I shove the helmet over my head and control my armor once more to make sure it's in place. Neither of us speak. It's no use to do so, after we have said so much more in the last silent hours. 

I want to know her name, but I don't say it. It is better if she stays a pretty face and nothing more. It would be even harder to ignore my urge for her, if I knew. So I turn around in silence and take my leave. It's only fair to feel a pain in my chest after being selfish to the only person I've ever felt something for.


End file.
